My attorney, Sarah Chen, met me on the stone steps of the family court.

“Are you holding up, Mark?” she asked, her briefcase clutched tightly in her hand.

“I have the ledger,” I said, tapping the leather case under my arm.

“Your father called my office early this morning,” she said, looking up the steps.

I stopped near the brass-handled doors.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said he is tired of living in the dark,” Sarah replied.

We walked through the heavy security scanners inside the lobby.

The courthouse smelled of old paper, damp umbrellas, and lemon-scented floor wax.

We took our seats on the left side of the small, wood-paneled courtroom.

A minute later, the double doors at the back swung open with a dull thud.

Linda walked in first, her chin held high, wearing a bright blue dress that looked far too festive for a courtroom.

Hannah followed closely behind her, clutching a designer handbag, her eyes red and swollen.

Luke was not with them, though I saw his name on the visitor log at the entrance.